


dreams of me and you | atsukita

by floresste



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Jackals, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Timeskip Spoilers, atsumu is in love but has to pursue his dreams, it's really sappy and gay so sorry about that, kita doesn't want to hold the love of his life back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floresste/pseuds/floresste
Summary: atsumu has to leave everything behind to follow his dreams.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 65
Kudos: 298





	1. home

“Kita.”

Kita looks up from the book he’s reading and a soft smile crosses his face. That smile is Kita’s equivalent of a huge grin, and any other night it would make him feel better. But tonight it just makes the pit in Atsumu’s stomach grow larger.

“Atsumu.” Kita closes his book. “Welcome home.”

“Hey.”

Kita cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, and he’s already figured out something’s wrong. He’s perceptive like that. But he doesn’t say anything; he gets up from the couch and crosses the room to stand in front of Atsumu. “How are you?”

Atsumu swallows thickly and says, “Fine.” Kita smiles like he already knows it’s not fine. Damn him. He’s always been able to read Atsumu like an open book, and usually Atsumu likes that; usually Kita knows what Atsumu wants before even Atsumu does. Today, however, it’s frustrating.

“Okay.” Kita reaches up and presses his palm, cool and firm, against Atsumu’s cheek. It’s still warm from practice. “I’ll go get started on dinner. Go shower and change.”

“‘Kay.” Kita removes his hand from his cheek, smiles at him again, and then retreats to their small kitchen. Atsumu stumbles to their bedroom and into their bathroom.

He starts the shower, turning the water to a boiling heat, but doesn’t get in. He stares at himself transfixed in the mirror. 

He considers himself fairly attractive. He’s tall and blonde, though admittedly not naturally blonde. He’s an exceptionally talented volleyball player, all lean muscles and pure instinct. He’s confident, brave, and maybe just a little too cocky for his own good. 

Yet, he thinks to himself as he leans down and splashes water in his own face, he doesn’t have the balls to tell his boyfriend he has to leave.

MSBY Black Jackals. That’s the team that recruited him. A team based in Tokyo, for God’s sake, which was about seven hours away from Hyogo. It wasn’t a lot of hours, but enough to fuck everything up.

Kita’s life was here, in Hyogo. Atsumu didn’t dare hope he’d move to Tokyo just to be with Atsumu. Kita would tell him something like, “We might break up after I move. I can’t just uproot my life for you, Atsumu,” and Atsumu wouldn’t even be able to blame him because he knows he can’t ask that of him.

But Kita also isn’t the type to do long distance. Which only leaves one option, which is to break up, which is also the last thing Atsumu wants. Kita keeps Atsumu sane. Knowing he can go home to his boyfriend sitting on their couch, reading a book or watching volleyball matches on the tv, knowing he would turn to Atsumu with a soft smile every time he saw him, was what got him through the day.

But he was thinking of Kita too much. What about himself? Atsumu had worked his ass off for years for this kind of opportunity. Not only was MSBY a division 1 team, but it was probably one of the best in the league. Atsumu would destroy the league on that team. He’d take the world by storm.

But lately, he couldn’t help but think that he’d like to go home to his loving boyfriend after he destroyed the league. He’d like to be able to go home and rest his head on Kita’s shoulder and tell him about the game while Kita brushes his hair (Kita loved doing that, and Atsumu loved when he did it). He wanted Kita by his side as he took the world by storm.

And seven hours away was not by his side. 

He shakes himself from his thoughts. As Kita would say, he’s buying trouble. He’ll talk it through with Kita, and Kita will come up with some magical solution that Atsumu hadn’t even considered, and everything will be okay.

He strips his sweaty workout clothes off and gets into the shower. The hot water washes the sweat off his body and he sighs. With this short shower, he already feels a little better. He feels a little more capable of talking to Kita. He can do this.

He steps out of the shower and towels off. Through the door, he can hear the stove turn on and whatever Kita puts inside it starts popping. It’ll be delicious. Everything Kita makes is.

When he staggers out of the bathroom and drops into one of the chairs in the kitchen, their small apartment is already filled with the smell of pork. Atsumu’s stomach growls and Kita turns around with that small smile again. “You were fast today.”

Atsumu shrugs. “I guess so.”

The smile drops off Kita’s face. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

Atsumu, against his will, tenses up. “Nothing’s wrong.” He’s lying through his teeth, and Kita knows it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Kita says softly, “but I think it’ll make you feel better.”

Atsumu never wants to tell him. He wants to avoid this terrible conversation entirely. But he knows he can’t avoid it forever. One way or another, the conversation has to happen. After all, he has to accept the offer in the next week.

“Later,” Atsumu mumbles. He traces shapes on the table with his pointer finger to avoid Kita’s gaze. “I don’t wanna ruin the night yet.”

He doesn’t look up, but he hears footsteps approach. “You’re not gonna ruin the night, Atsumu.”

“I might.” He pouts, and he hears Kita huff out a laugh. He can’t blame him; he has a tendency to act like a petulant child. But Kita puts up with it. He always has, and always will.

Kita runs his fingers through Atsumu’s damp hair and presses a kiss to his scalp. “Will you tell me after dinner?”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines.

“You have to, sooner or later.”

“No.”

Kita presses another kiss to his scalp, and Atsumu can feel himself melting. Kita knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s weakening Atsumu’s resolve. Every kiss makes it harder to say no, and the worst part is Atsumu doesn’t want to stop him. Every kiss is as sweet as the first one Kita ever gave him, and he never wants to stop feeling like this.

This is exactly why he doesn’t want to go to Tokyo.

“The food’s gonna burn,” Atsumu mutters weakly. Kita’s combing his fingers through the fine hairs at the base of his neck, and every brush of his finger sends shivers down Atsumu’s spine. 

He’s so conflicted. He loves Kita. He loves the way he feels with Kita. He loves little moments like this, where Kita cooks and kisses Atsumu and he feels loved. If he goes to Tokyo, he can pursue his dreams. But he’ll be leaving behind so much.

Kita brushes Atsumu’s wet bangs from his forehead and silently walks back to the stove. Atsumu watches him as he cooks. He feels like he might vomit. He doesn’t want to lose this. He can’t.

But Kita will never let him stay. 

Atsumu’s mind is stuck on a loop. He thinks I can’t leave but I can’t stay over and over so many times he can feel his head spinning. He’s still thinking like a broken record when Kita sets a dish down in front of him. “You’re done already?” Atsumu asks.

Kita smiles and takes the seat next to him. “I am.”

Atsumu manages to smile a little back at Kita. “Thanks for making dinner.” Atsumu quickly digs in as Kita says a quick prayer to whatever deity it is he prays to (Atsumu may be dating him, but he still doesn’t understand all of Kita’s little quirks. He doesn’t have to understand them to love them).

They eat, and neither talk. Atsumu know’s Kita’s trying his other “Get Atsumu to Talk” tactic: silence. Atsumu hates awkward silences, but he won’t let Kita win. He allows himself to stew in this silence, even though it’s killing him on the inside.

Atsumu finishes eating first. He likes to eat as fast as possible, while Kita likes to savor his food. Atsumu doesn’t mind, though, because he gets to watch Kita while he waits. Kita always watches his food with an intense concentration. His bangs fall into his eyes as he leans down, and he swipes them back with a small, smooth hand. Kita is perfect. Almost too perfect.. Atsumu can hardly tear his eyes away.

When dinner is finished, Kita picks up their dishes and begins to wash them. Atsumu never helps, because he sucks at cleaning dishes and he knows Kita likes them done a certain way.

Kita’s scrubbing at a particularly nasty spot on the pan he had used when he asks, “Are you going to talk to me now?”

“Kita.” He hates how pathetic his own voice sounds. “I don’t wanna talk.”

“I know you don’t.” Kita’s voice is soft, like it always is when he’s talking to Atsumu. He has a special tone that he only uses for Atsumu: it’s a little exasperated, but soft and full of love. Just another thing Atsumu can’t bring himself to let go of. “But I think you need to.”

Atsumu shuts his eyes and drops his head onto the table. It hits the wood with a dull thunk and he mutters, “Ow.”

He hears Kita laugh a little. It’s a pretty little noise, kind of like a bell ringing. He wants to listen to it forever. “You’re so dramatic. I’m sure you’ll feel better if you talk to me.” He pauses for a moment before he says, “I won’t make you though.”

Atsumu doesn’t reply, and Kita continues to do the dishes in silence.

When Kita is finished, he crosses the kitchen and leans down to kiss the back of Atsumu’s neck. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Atsumu grunts something in response and Kita runs a hand down his back before walking away.

He needs to talk to Kita. He has to. He can’t avoid this forever.

But he knows what Kita will say. He’s dated Kita for over two years now. He knows his response, and it’s the exact opposite of what he wants to hear. But maybe it’s what he needs to hear. 

He takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. Now or never.

Without lifting his head from the table, he calls out, “Kita.”

Kita pauses the tv before replying, “Yes?”

“Can we talk?” He sounds so pathetic. He hates it.

“Of course. Come in here.”

Atsumu slides his chair out and slowly stands up. He makes his way to the living room very slowly, like he can avoid the conversation by drawing out the short walk to the living room. Unfortunately for Atsumu, Kita is infinitely patient. When Atsumu enters the living room, he’s waiting with his legs crossed on the couch, his hands folded on his lap. He’s so cute. So impossibly adorable. It makes Atsumu’s chest ache with love and pain and a million other things all at once.

Atsumu sinks onto the couch next to Kita, but doesn’t look at him. He stares blankly at the paused tv ahead. Kita’s watching an old volleyball match. Of course he is. The perfect backdrop for this conversation.

“Atsumu?” One of Kita’s hands slips onto his knee. It’s a comforting, grounding feeling and Atsumu takes a deep breath. “What’s wrong?”

“I got recruited,” he chokes out. He coughs, then continues, “By a volleyball team. Division one. It’s...pretty amazing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Atsumu sees Kita’s mouth fall openly slightly, then twist into a smile. “That’s amazing, Atsumu. Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. It feels like his throat is closing in on itself. “Real fuckin’ amazing.”

Kita’s hand slides back to his own lap. “Now I get the feeling you’re being sarcastic.”

“Maybe a little.” He still can’t bring himself to look at Kita.

“So what’s the catch?”

“The team is the MSBY Black Jackals.”

“Okay. And?”

“They’re a Tokyo team.”

“Oh.” Kita pauses to let that information sink in. To let the implications of that sink in. Then he says, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Atsumu wishes he had a glass of water; his throat feels dry. “Oh is right.”

“Are you going to join?” Of course he would go straight there. “This is an amazing opportunity.”

“I’d have to move to Tokyo.”

“You would.”

“Tokyo is seven hours away.”

“I know it is. But this is too big an opportunity to pass up.”

Atsumu knew he’d say that. He tears his eyes away from the tv screen and looks at Kita. “You know what that means.”

Kita is calm, his face impassive. Nothing like Atsumu’s face, which he knows is showing his distress. “It means a lot of things.”

Atsumu figures he should just spit it out, so he can get rejected already. “Move to Tokyo with me.”

Kita’s neutral face melts away to pity, just like Atsumu knew it would. “Atsumu…”

Atsumu doesn’t want to give up. “I know it’s far away from your grandma, but I’ll pay for a train ticket to visit her every week. And you can get a job in Tokyo. And we’d have to get a smaller apartment but once I saved up a little we could get something bigger and—”

“Atsumu.” Kita reaches out and cups Atsumu’s cheeks with his hands, and it already feels like rejection. “You know I don’t like the city.”

“I know, but…” He can’t help the pout his mouth twists into. “Couldn’t you at least try? For me?”

“I could,” Kita says with a tilt of his head, “but it would make me resentful. And unhappy. And then you’d be unhappy.”

“I could never be unhappy with you.”

Kita smiles softly. “I believe you.”

“Please go to Tokyo with me.”

Kita shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Atsumu. The answer is no.”

“Then I won’t go.”

Kita’s hands tighten on his cheeks. “You have to, Atsumu. This is what you’ve been working for your whole life. I won’t let you throw it away.”

“But you won’t come with me.” Atsumu places his hand on top of Kita’s. “I don’t wanna do it without you cheering me on.”

“I’ll be cheering you on from here.” Kita lets his hands fall off his face, and Atsumu’s own hand falls to his lap. “I’ll always cheer you on.”

“So I’m going to Tokyo, and you’ll be staying here.”

“Yes.”

He thinks he knows the answer to this next part, but he’s praying he’s wrong. “So we’ll be dating long distance.”

Kita doesn’t answer, and it says everything Atsumu needs to know.

“Kita.” He hates how pathetic he sounds. He’s practically begging. “Please.”

“I just don’t think long distance would work for us.”

“Please.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Don't do this, Kita. Please.”

“I’m not doing anything yet, Atsumu. But we can’t make long distance work. You know that.”

Atsumu is surprised to feel tears burning in his eyes. “So what? You just wanna break up? Throw away everything we have for a god damn volleyball team?”

Kita looks away from Atsumu. “This is important for you. I won’t let you throw this opportunity away for me, of all people.”

“What do you mean, ‘me, of all people’?” Atsumu feels like tearing his hair out and screaming in frustration. Or kissing Kita to show him exactly why they couldn’t break up. “You’re everything to me, Kita.”

Kita laughs. It’s nothing like his previous laughs, which were full of mirth; this laugh is bitter and sad. “Volleyball has always been your one true love, Atsumu. I always knew I was only a placeholder.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu yells. “Just shut up!” He doesn’t want to yell at Kita. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” He can’t help it.

“Atsumu.” Kita’s tone is soothing, which only makes Atsumu angrier. “Calm down.”

“No! You can’t just choose this for me!” Atsumu scoots away from Kita. “Stop making my decisions for me!”

“I’m not choosing for you.” Kita folds his hands on his lap again. It pisses Atsumu off, for some reason. “This is what you want too. I know it. I’m only holding you back.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Atsumu whimpers. “You’re...my everything, Kita.”

Kita’s face is full of pity. “I know, Atsumu.”

“I love you. So fuckin’ much.”

Kita’s face crumples, but he still laughs a little. “I love you too, Atsumu.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to.”

Atsumu crawls across the couch again and buries his head in Kita’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me, Kita.”

Kita wraps his arms around Atsumu and pulls him in closer. He presses kiss after kiss to Atsumu’s forehead, but he says nothing. “Please, Kita,” Atsumu begs.

Kita’s hand slides up and down Atsumu’s back, and he hates that it soothes him. “This is what’s best for us,” Kita says. “You’ll move to Tokyo and pursue your dreams. I’ll stay here where I belong.”

“You belong with me.”

Kita kisses Atsumu’s head again. “I belong with you. But you belong on the volleyball court. There’s no room for me there.”

“Kita,” Atsumu whimpers. “Don’t do this.”

“Promise me you’ll join the team.”

“Kita.”

“Promise me, Atsumu. You can’t let this opportunity slip away.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Look at me.” Atsumu looks up at Kita and realizes stone-faced Kita, his rock, his everything, is trying to keep his own tears at bay. How unfair that Kita looks so beautiful with tears sparkling in his eyes. They look like the diamonds Atsumu dreamed of putting on Kita’s finger.

“Atsumu,” Kita whispers. He pulls his arms back towards himself and places his hands on Atsumu’s face. “If you stayed here, you’d be happy for a little bit. But then you’d regret not joining the team. You’d end up on some D-2 or D-3 team and you’d hate yourself for it because you know that’s not what you’re meant for. You’re meant for so much more, Atsumu.”

Atsumu feels the tears trickle down his cheeks. “But if it means losing you, I—”

“You have to make sacrifices for your dreams, Atsumu.” Kita leans down and kisses the corner of Atsumu’s eye, where the tears are leaking out. “I would never forgive myself if I held you back.”

Kita slips his arms back around Atsumu and Atsumu leans into Kita’s chest. This is it. He knows the argument is over, and he’s lost. He’s lost everything.

“Promise me you’ll join the team, Atsumu.”

He hates himself for saying it, but he still says, “I’ll do it.”

Kita strokes his hair. “Thank you.”

“I hate you.” Atsumu doesn’t mean it. He never could.

“I know.” Kita keeps running his hand through Atsumu’s hair. It’s starting to lull him to sleep, but he doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to stay up with Kita, to savor every hour he still has left before he lets the man of his dreams slip through his fingers. “I love you so much.”

“I know.” Atsumu screws his eyes shut, as if that can stop the pain he’s feeling and the tears pooling in his eyes. “I love you too.”

“Move with me.”

“No.”

“Date me long distance.”

“No.”

“Let me stay here.”

“Atsumu.”

“I know.” Atsumu shifts until he’s fully curled up in Kita’s lap. “I don’t mean it.”

“This is your dream. I want you to follow it.”

“I know.” Atsumu sighs and buries his head deeper into Kita’s chest. Kita is warm and safe and he smells like home. “I just wish you could follow it with me.”

Kita kisses Atsumu’s hair again. He loves doing that. Atsumu will miss it. “Me too, baby.”

Atsumu melts. He shuts his eyes again and knows this time, he won’t open them again. He hopes Kita doesn’t mind.

“When do you think you’ll leave?”

“When I officially sign on.”

“When is that?”

“I don’t know. Soon, probably.”

“I’ll appreciate every minute I have left with you.”

Atsumu laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “Don’t talk like I’m dying.”

Kita shushes him and runs his fingers through his hair. “Sleep. You’re tired.”

Atsumu wants to argue, but he can’t anymore. He curls into Kita’s arms and shuts his eyes and sleeps, and dreams of a long life with Kita; a life that is no longer his.


	2. my golden boy

Atsumu can’t do it anymore. He pushes the box away, and it slides across his new coffee table and crashes to the floor. The photos and other knick knacks inside fall out and fly across the living room. He briefly considers not picking them up, but the thought of accidentally stepping on a photo and crumpling it has him standing up to collect them.

He promised Kita he’d leave the photos in his closet. Kita had suggested throwing them out, but Atsumu told him that would be a waste. He said he wouldn’t even look at them, but he’d keep them in the closet. A purely sentimental thing, he’d said, he’d forget they were even there.

If Kita knew that he’d spent every night in Tokyo so far sitting on his brand new couch, staring at the photos in the box, he’d regret letting Atsumu keep it.

But he can’t help it. The box, filled to the brim with photos of Atsumu and Kita together, is the only thing keeping him sane. He misses Kita so badly it aches, and he isn’t supposed to text or call him so instead he stares at pictures of him and tries not to cry.

Though, Atsumu thinks as he finishes picking the photos up and returning them to their spot in the box, this is much more pathetic.

He sets the box down on his coffee table and stands up, looking around his apartment. He had gone furniture shopping with Kita and picked out everything himself, but he still finds himself hating the apartment. 

For one, it’s too small. Rent is much more expensive in Tokyo. And even though it’s too small, it feels too big and empty for Atsumu’s taste. He’s grown so used to living with another person, the feeling of an empty apartment is unsettling.

Not to mention, this apartment smells like disinfectant wipes and whatever the next door neighbors cook for dinner. It doesn’t smell like home.

It doesn’t smell like Kita.

Atsumu leaves the box on the coffee table and goes to his small kitchen. He grabs a container of instant noodles from the cabinet and shoves it in the microwave. He knows how to cook. He lived with Osamu for eighteen years, and he lived with Kita (who insisted he Atsumu help him cook whenever possible) for two years. He knows how to cook. His issue is that he doesn’t want to.

What he really wants is some of Kita’s cooking. Osamu was great, sure, but Atsumu was so lovestruck that everything Kita made tasted like the nectar of the gods. Anything he cooks will fall so short it will only make Atsumu more depressed, so it’s better that he sticks to instant noodles.

It’s been a week since he moved to Tokyo. He needs to get over himself. He has his first practice with the Black Jackals the next day and he needs to make a good impression—he wants to show them that he’s a narcissistic asshole, not a depressed loser who only eats instant noodles and stares at pictures of his ex-boyfriend.

 _His ex-boyfriend._ God, calling Kita that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, despite it being the total, undeniable truth.

True to his word, Atsumu had met with the Black Jackals recruiter the day after his talk with Kita and had agreed to join the team. Instantly, his life had become a whirlwind of preparations for the move and meetings and contracts. It had been stressful, but he hadn’t minded all that, because he still had Kita waiting for him at home. At least, he had thought so. His life became much lonelier when Kita began putting distance between them.

Atsumu had brought this up one night at dinner, and Kita had fallen silent. He stayed so quiet Atsumu had thought he wasn’t going to get a reply, but Kita set his chopsticks down and said, “I’m sorry, Atsumu. I’m just trying to prepare us for when we have to break up when you leave. I don’t like it either.”

It hit Atsumu at that moment that he was really leaving. He was going to Tokyo, and he was leaving Kita behind. Maybe forever.

He’d pushed his bowl away and gone to their bedroom, and stayed there until Kita joined him an hour later. Neither said anything, but Kita had wrapped his arms around Atsumu and held him all night.

A month and a half after he signed onto the Black Jackals and on a train heading for Tokyo. In his hand he clutched a one-way ticket. Kita held a round-trip ticket.

Despite having officially broken up the night before, Kita held Atsumu’s hand the whole way to Tokyo. They didn’t talk. Kita probably didn’t know what to say and Atsumu couldn’t talk around the lump in his throat. Atsumu stared out the window and tried to not cry. When Kita squeezed his hand, he squeezed back even harder.

Kita helped him set up his new apartment. They’d set up all the furniture together and even decorated it together. Kita only spoke to him to ask for help or ask him where he wanted something moved.

When they’d finished at three in the morning, they’d both crashed on his couch. Kita fell asleep with his feet on Atsumu’s lap and Atsumu relished the feeling. He tried not to think about how he might never see Kita again and enjoyed their last night together.

The next morning, Kita had made them breakfast and then packed up for his train. In the entryway of his new apartment, which was already too empty, Kita reached up and kissed Atsumu one last time before leaving him behind to his new life.

Needless to say, Atsumu hadn’t handled it well. He’d spent the last week eating instant noodles and looking at old photos and trying not to cry.

He finishes his instant noodles and gets up to throw the cup out. His footsteps echo too loudly in the small apartment. He misses the constant noise of coexisting with someone else. Kita was a quiet person, but when Atsumu had paused, he could always hear something: rustling of pages, quiet breathing, the gentle rustle of clothes. All he could hear in this apartment was the neighbor’s tv, which was always too loud.

He decides to go to bed. It’s still relatively early, but he doesn’t have anything better to do, unless he wants to watch tv or listen to the neighbors. As he passes the coffee table, he pauses. _I really should put that box away._

He reaches for it, but something makes him pull his hands back and continue to his bedroom. He’ll put the box away another day. For now, it will stay on his coffee table.

**.**

The Black Jackals are an interesting team. Atsumu had hoped that his shitty attitude wouldn’t throw them off, but he hadn’t expected the team to take it in stride and even throw his snark back at him. It’s kind of like being back on the Inarizaki team, except Kita isn’t there.

Ouch. Every thought of Kita sends a pang to his heart. He’s trying his best not to think about him, but it’s like the world is intent on reminding him of his lost love at every opportunity.

A few days after his first practice with the Black Jackals, Atsumu is lounging on his couch. The box sits on his coffee table a few feet away. He wants to get up and put the box away, but he knows as soon as his fingers brush the lid he’ll open it and go through the pictures again. He doesn’t think he has the emotional capacity to do that again. He remains on the couch, his eyes closed, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Maybe if he called Kita, he’d feel better. After all, they were still friends, right? He’s allowed to call a friend. But would it be weird? What if Kita didn’t pick up? What if Kita _did_ pick up?

His phone, laying forgotten on his chest, rings. Atsumu jolts and scrambles up. It has to be Kita. Soulmates are supposed to know when the other is thinking of them, right? So Kita must have the same idea as him.

He grabs the phone and pulls it up to his face to look at the caller ID. Instead of ‘Kita’ (it was previously ‘Cutie’), it reads ‘Onigiri Fucker’. His heart sinks in his chest and he slides back down the couch, his mood now even worse. _Not Kita. Don’t care._

Still, he should answer the phone, even if it’s just his stupid brother and not the love of his life. 

He hits answer and presses the phone to his ear. “What do you want?”

“Could you sound anymore unenthusiastic?” Osamu quips back. “I’m calling to see how my professional volleyball player brother is doing.”

“I’m not in the mood to deal with you,” Atsumu moans, running his hands down his face.

“Are you still moping over the breakup?” He can practically hear Osamu’s eye roll. “It’s been almost two weeks.”

“That’s not enough time to get over someone like him! He’s amazing. He’s—”

“Atsumu, please,” Osamu interrupts, “I’ve heard this enough times.”

“It’s just not fair,” Atsumu whines. “I love him. I want him to be here right now. I don’t wanna be stuck in this shitty apartment all by myself. I miss him.”

Atsumu expects another jab at his ego, and maybe it’s what he needs to get off his sorry ass. Instead, Osamu goes quiet. “What?” Atsumu asks. “What’re you thinkin’ about in that tiny brain of yours?”

“Ah, there’s the Atsumu we all know and love.” Osamu’s voice is dry. “I was going to tell you I’m sorry you miss him, but I changed my mind. Go die.”

“No, go ahead. Lay some sympathy on me.”

“Eat shit.”

“God, you’re so mean.” Atsumu blinks blearily at his ceiling. “I already feel like shit.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Shut up! What did you even call me for?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how my business is going?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll tell you anyway.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose and is about to interrupt his brother to inform him that he really doesn’t care when another voice floats through the receiver. Osamu is clearly not alone, but Atsumu can’t hear what they’re saying. “Wait, hold on. What?”

Atsumu pauses and strains his ears to catch the voice of the other person, but he can only hear his brother’s replies. It sounds like they’re talking about…

“Dinner plans?” Atsumu asks. “Who are you going to dinner with?”

“Shut up,” Osamu hisses. He goes back to talking to this mysterious person, and the sinking feeling in Atsumu’s chest grows. Is Osamu dating someone? Right after Atsumu broke up with his boyfriend? His already bad mood is growing worse.

“Sorry about that,” Osamu says a few seconds later. “What were you saying?”

“Who’s there?”

Osamu hesitates for a moment, then says, “No one.” Atsumu hears a shout from the other side of the phone again, and Osamu curses.

“You gonna tell me now?”

“You’re gonna mock me,” Osamu grumbles, “and I don’t wanna rub it in your face right after you broke up with Kita.”

That’s surprisingly thoughtful for Osamu, who sometimes does things only out of spite for Atsumu. Still, Atsumu curiosity wins out over his growing depression. “No, tell me. I wanna know.”

Osamu is silent for a minute before he spits out, “I’m going on a date with Suna.”

“Suna?” Atsumu can’t help yelling and jumping off the couch. “Suna Rintarou? The one we went to school with?”

“What other Suna would it be, dumbass?”

“You’re fucking kidding!” Atsumu starts pacing around his small apartment. “Why would Suna go out with someone like you? Why would you go out with someone like Suna?”

Osamu huffs out a sigh. “You’re being too loud. Suna can hear you and he said ‘fuck you’.”

“That’s your job.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“You’re seriously dating Suna?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

Atsumu thinks back to high school and decides no, it really isn’t. He was pretty busy with his own relationship problems throughout high school. His first year, he had tried to convince himself that he was straight and didn’t have a crush on the cute second year boy that told him to take care of himself. He spent his second year trying to reign in a crush on his still-cute team captain. And his third year, his wonderful third year, he spent dating said cutie. He hadn’t really given much thought to Osamu and his dating life, other than the fact that he had none.

But if he really thought about it, Osamu and Suna had always had something between them. Suna always preferred sitting with Osamu on the bus, Osamu always shared his food with Suna, and they two always loved to mock Atsumu together. Gin had often teased them about eye-fucking each other, but Atsumu hadn’t paid them much attention, because he was busy eye-fucking someone himself.

“I guess not,” Atsumu muses. “You two are made for each other.”

“Thanks for your approval,” Osamu drawls.

“How long have you guys been dating?”

“A few months now.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks, asshole. Can I go out to dinner with my boyfriend now?”

The word _boyfriend_ only sends a small pang to Atsumu’s heart. He’s happy for Osamu, really, but he can’t help but be jealous. Osamu is preparing to go out to dinner with his boyfriend, and Atsumu is stuck hours away from his boyfriend ( _ex-boyfriend_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies) with only a box of pictures to remember him by.

Still, Atsumu forces a nonchalant tone and says, “Sure. Go have fun with Suna. Tell him I said he sucks dick.”

“He says he sure does.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting. I didn’t wanna know that.”

Osamu laughs. “I’m hanging up now, dipshit.”

“Have fun with your freak of a boyfriend.”

Osamu laughs again and hangs up before Atsumu can insult him anymore. Atsumu shoves his phone in his pocket with a huff and discovers that he’s actually in a better mood than he was before, even if it was Osamu he was forced to talk to.

He feels a small twinge of homesickness for the first time since he arrived in Tokyo. He’d been so focused on losing Kita, he’d forgotten everything else he’d left behind—his friends, his family, his dumbass twin brother.

He shook the feeling off. He was pursuing his dreams. He was doing what everyone had told him to do. He had no doubt that, no matter how painful, he was doing the right thing.

It’s the first time since he’d arrived in Tokyo that he admits to himself he’s doing the right thing.

He decides to reward his brilliant self-awareness with takeout.

As he sits on his couch, eating takeout onigiri (he sent a picture of it to Osamu with the caption _better than yours_ and received a string of profanities back), he decides to call Gin and see what he’s up to. Just because he lives in Tokyo doesn’t mean he has to lose his life in Hyogo.

He doesn’t call Kita, and he doesn’t put the box away. But for the first night since he’d arrived in Tokyo, he falls asleep thinking of something other than Kita.

**.**

“Hey hey, Atsumu!” Bokuto's voice booms throughout the small locker room. It makes more than half the team, Atsumu included, flinch.

“Why are you so damn loud?” Atsumu grumbles. 

Bokuto pays it no mind as he slings a sweaty arm around Atsumu’s shoulder. “Hey, ‘Tsumu!”

“What do you want?” Atsumu jabs him in the stomach, and the arm retreats. Bokuto’s grin does not. Atsumu is starting to think Bokuto can’t not smile.

“I was going to ask you before practice, but I couldn’t find you!” That was because Atsumu had arrived early to work on setting. It had been a month now, and Atsumu wasn’t the starting setter yet. It wasn’t surprising, but it was a little frustrating. He felt he wasn’t making enough progress, so he decided he was going to start putting in more time.

Plus, he’d had a dream about Kita last night, and he wanted to work the resurfacing pain off. But if anyone asked, it was the extra practice thing.

“We’re gonna go out for drinks!” Bokuto is beaming at Atsumu like this is the greatest idea on the planet. “Wanna come with?”

“Like,” Atsumu glances around, “now?”

“Yeah! Now!”

Atsumu’s previous plans for his night had included going home and watching tv, maybe calling Osamu to piss him off. He figures going and getting drunk with his teammates at seven was as good a pastime as any.

“Sure,” Atsumu says with a shrug. “Why not?”

“Yes!” Bokuto pumps his fist and jumps up. “It’s gonna be great!”

“You’re not gonna be able to come if you don’t get dressed!” Meian calls out to Bokuto. Bokuto yelps and races off to his locker.

A half hour later, Atsumu is crowded into a small izakaya with the whole volleyball team. It’s loud and already getting pretty warm (someone reaches over to prop the door open) and the staff is getting slightly overwhelmed, but it does beat sitting at home alone. Atsumu is stuck between Bokuto, who is shouting and gesturing wildly, and Inunaki, who is thankfully sipping his sake peacefully. 

Atsumu doesn’t feel like listening to Bokuto, so he lets his mind wander. He thinks about practice today and how he’d been on top of his game. He thinks about his setting, about what he did right and what he could improve on. He’s thinking about the sets he sent to Barnes that were slightly off when his dream pops into his head without warning.

The exact details of the dream are hazy, but Atsumu doesn’t need them. It’s a date he went on with Kita during his third year. They’re walking past a pond, and Atsumu says something about the ducks that makes Kita laugh. Atsumu is enamored with his laugh and tells him how beautiful he is and Kita turns to him and says, “I love you, Atsumu.”

It’s a nice dream, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s about _Kita_ and Atsumu has just started getting better at thinking about things other than Kita all the time, and now he’s invaded his dreams and the pain is coming back as raw and angry as ever.

He tips back his drink and focuses on that burn instead of the burning in his heart.

The night slips on and Atsumu drinks more and more. He’s never been one to get drunk, and tonight is no exception, but he’s gotten a little more tipsy than he expected. Bokuto, surprisingly, gets quieter the drunker he gets, and Inunaki is lying facedown on the table, groaning. 

“What’s wrong, Inunaki?” Bokuto says, leaning around Atsumu to look at the libero. Atsumu flinches; Bokuto may be quieter, but he’s still loud. 

Inunaki flips his head to the side, his cheek resting against the table, and sighs. “I met this girl,” he starts, “and she’s really amazing. But I don’t know if I actually like her and if I wanna date her, you know?”

Atsumu runs his thumb along the rim of his glass. Seems everyone in his life is in a happy relationship except for him.

“That sucks!” Bokuto says in a tone that does not match his words. “Crushes are hard.”

“Like, what even is love?” Inunaki says, throwing out his hand. His glass shakes, and Atsumu grabs it so it doesn’t fall. “How do you even know if you’re in love, you know? It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not too hard to tell you’re in love,” Atsumu muses, mostly to himself, as he takes another drink. “You just know.”

“Oh yeah?” Inunaki mumbles. “Then tell us, Atsumu. How do you know you’re in love?”

How do you know you’re in love? _What a ridiculous question._ “It’s different for everyone,” he murmurs.

Inunaki snorts. “That’s just your way of saying you don’t know. You’re just talkin’ out your ass.” He takes another sip of his drink. “You’ve probably never been in love before.”

“Of course I have,” Atsumu says before he can stop himself. 

“Really? Then tell us what it’s like!” Bokuto’s loud voice garners the attention of a few more people, and Atsumu feels his face grow warmer from the unexpected attention. Still, he’s not going to back down, especially not with Inunaki not-so-subtly insulting him.

Atsumu gulps down the last of his drink and starts talking, painfully aware that the izakaya is quieter than it had been before. “Being in love is like...for me, it was like being at home all the time. It didn’t matter where we were. As long as we were together, I was at home, you know? I was safe with them. I could tell them anything and they’d always be there for me, even if it was something terrible. And they just understood me no matter what. And…” Atsumu trails off. The izakaya is quiet. He swallows hard. “Yeah.”

“Keep going,” Inunaki mumbles, tugging at Atsumu’s jacket. “Come on.”

Atsumu clears his throat. Someone slides him another drink, and he takes it. He knows the whole team is listening to him talk, but who cares? At this point, he’s just talking about his feelings toward Kita, as if speaking them out loud will let them evaporate into the air and disappear.

“I mean, it’s like you’re always at the top of a roller coaster. You never really know what’s gonna happen next but you know you’re gonna enjoy it. And sometimes you’re fine, but then there’s times where you both reach for the same box of noodles on the shelf and they turn to you and laugh and you’re going down the roller coaster. It’s not even that different from the way you feel regularly, but you feel like you can do anything. He makes you feel safe and secure and you never wanna leave his side. And you guys push each other forward to new heights. You feel like…” his voice falters, but he continues, “like with him behind you, always pushing you to do greater things, I mean, you feel like you can really do it. And you know for sure that you love him.” 

The izakaya is dead silent. Atsumu takes another drink and stares resolutely at the table. Finally, Bokuto says, “Him?”

Atsumu glances over at him, brow furrowed, before it dawns on him. _Oh. Oh, shit._ Maybe he started thinking about Kita a little too much. 

He hopes he can blame the flush on his cheeks on the alcohol. “Uh, yeah. Him. He.” He worries at his bottom lip. He doesn’t think the team will judge him for something like this, but he was hoping he’d be able to tell them in a more dramatic or humorous way, not when he poured his heart out for everyone to see.

Bokuto claps him on the back and shouts, “I like guys too!”

The whole team starts laughing and shouting support, and Atsumu can’t help sighing with relief. He wasn’t too worried, but he also wasn’t expecting such an outpouring of support and Bokuto’s arm around his shoulder. It feels nice, being a part of a team like this. It’s different from Inarizaki, in a good kind of way.

He just wishes Kita were here to see it.

Things settle down and the small conversations return. Atsumu decides he’s not going to speak for the rest of the night; he’s clearly more drunk than he thought and he doesn’t need to embarrass himself anymore.

“Hey, Atsumu.” It’s Inunaki, tugging on his sleeve again. “Atsumu.”

“What’s up?”

“Sorry for saying all those things,” he mumbles, “like, like you’ve never been in love before and shit. That was mean. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t.” Atsumu slides Inunaki’s glass away from him. “You’re pretty drunk.”

“Who is he?” he asks. “This guy you’re in love with?” Atsumu’s heart drops. 

Kita. Holy shit, it’s Kita. It’s always been Kita. It’s Kita who makes him feel at home. It’s Kita who pushes him to greater heights. It’s Kita who grabbed a box of noodles at the same time as him and giggled and made Atsumu feel like he was flying. He loved Shinsuke Kita and he was gone.

“Atsumu? You okay?” Inunaki is tugging at his sleeve again.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Bokuto butts back into the conversation with a shout. “‘Tsumu, what’s wrong?”

“Keep your voice down,” Atsumu hisses, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Oh, sorry!” Bokuto drops his voice to a stage whisper and says, “‘Tsumu, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a shake of his head. “Nothing.”

Thankfully, Inunaki is too drunk to care and Bokuto has a short attention span. They both move on quickly and leave Atsumu to his thoughts. 

_God, Kita,_ he thinks, resting his head on the table, _I miss you so much._

They leave the izakaya an hour later. Atsumu is one of the few semi-sober ones, so he has to help his teammates get home. Meian puts him in charge of Inunaki, which is how he finds himself stumbling down a Tokyo road he’s unfamiliar with, his arm around his drunk teammate.

“We almost there?” Inunaki asks. “I’m really fuckin’ tired.”

“And very drunk,” Atsumu mumbles. 

They turn the corner and Inunaki laughs. “Yeah, I am. Isn’t that funny?”

Atsumu doesn’t reply. He’s staring at his phone, praying the GPS is taking them to the right place. It’s not too far from his own house, so why is he so damn lost? He’s not sober enough for this.

“Hey, Atsumu.”

“What is it?”

Only another few minutes, and they’ll be at Inunaki’s. Then he can drop him off for his roommate to deal with and go back to his apartment and shower and go to sleep.

“I hope that this thing with this girl works out.” Inunaki stumbles a little, and Atsumu has to stop to steady him. “I hope that I can be as in love as you are with that guy.”

Atsumu can feel a lump rising in his throat. “Yeah?”

He and Atsumu keep walking. “He’s something special,” Inunaki continues, “so don’t lose him. Keep him and hold him tight and...and love him. And I hope he loves you like you love him.”

Atsumu thinks he might cry if he opens his mouth, but he manages to choke out, “Thanks, Inunaki. I hope so too.”

Inunaki nods his head and they continue the walk in silence. A few minutes later, he’s passing his drunk teammate to an infinitely patient roommate who offers to drive Atsumu to his apartment. Atsumu declines. He wants to be alone right now.

There’s a lump in his throat when he unlocks his door and enters his empty apartment. It’s cold. It’s barren. It smells like fucking instant noodles.

He hates it so much.

He passes the bathroom and collapses onto his bed fully clothed. He kicks his shoes off and draws his knees up to his chest and cries and cries and cries until he starts drifting away.

 _Kita,_ he thinks deleriously, _I miss you so much._

The next day, perhaps out of stubbornness, he puts the box of photos in his closet and pushes away all memories of Kita. He thinks of his old team’s motto, one he’d always mocked as cliche and ridiculous. Now, he tucks in close to his heart.

_I don’t need things like memories._

**.**

Time heals all wounds. Atsumu had thought that was the dumbest saying on the planet, but now he finds it surprisingly helpful. _One day at a time,_ he tells himself, _it’ll be easier tomorrow._ And it is.

The best solution, he discovers, is to keep Kita out of his mind. Hard work puts all thoughts of love out of his mind. He throws himself into his training, working for hours a day outside of practice to get stronger, faster, and better.

Eight months into his time with the Black Jackals, Atsumu becomes the starting setter. The first thing he does when he gets home is calls Osamu and tells him the news.

“Suna says you don’t deserve it.”

Atsumu gasps with indignation. “Put him on the phone. Let me tell him how much of a useless ass he is.”

He spends most of the night on the phone with Osamu and Suna. He only gets off the phone when Bokuto shows up, insistent on taking him out to dinner to celebrate his new starting position. Atsumu doesn’t think of Kita once all night. 

He doesn’t stop missing Kita. He doesn’t think he could ever stop that. But he stops thinking about Kita. He moves on with his life. His teammates never ask about the boy he spoke about in the izakaya, and he’s grateful. He doesn’t know how he would explain it. He ends up dating a girl or two, though nothing serious ever happens between them. They want to date him because he’s a professional volleyball player and he wants to date them to help himself move on.

He finds that he can be happy without Kita. He always feels the hole Kita left in his heart, but he moves on with life in spite of it. He keeps going, pursuing his dreams, because it's what Kita wants him to do and damn it, Atsumu deserves to be happy too. He deserves what he’s been working for his whole life. He has friends, and a damn amazing team. When Sakusa joins up, Atsumu thinks he must be dreaming. Then Shoyo shows up, tanned and strong from his time in Brazil, and Atsumu knows he’s made it to the top. He knows this is the team he’s going to destroy the league with. He’s finally got what he wants.

He’s glad he left Hyogo. He’s glad he joined this team. He has everything he could possibly want. _Not everything,_ a tickling in the back of his head whispers, but he doesn’t dwell on it long enough to figure out what exactly it is. He’s too busy pursuing everything he deserves.

**.**

“Stupid Omi-kun,” he mutters under his breath as he scrubs at a nasty spot on his counter. “Making me clean and shit just so you can come over and hide in the corner.”

He’s cleaning his apartment; a new one that’s bigger and nicer and has walls that are thick enough that he can’t hear his neighbors every time they bang. He made the mistake of telling the team this, and they insisted he throw a housewarming party. Sakusa said he’d only be there if Atsumu thoroughly cleaned the apartment, so Atsumu is wiping all the surfaces down with Sakusa’s preferred brand of disenfectant wipes, because Atsumu is a good fucking teammate. 

He stands back and admires his handiwork. The apartment is sparkling, but now it smells like cleaning solution. Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the smell and decides to light one of his candles. He bought them when they were on sale at the store once, and he’s been addicted ever since; they made his apartment smell more homey. As he lights a large peach candle, he can’t think of anything that could smell more like home than this. 

His teammates start pouring in a little past six. Sakusa is the hardest to deal with; he insists on wiping down the chair Atsumu gives him and he refuses anything Atsumu offers him. For someone who demanded the whole apartment be cleaned before he came over, he’s a pretty terrible guest. But Hinata, who is bright and bubbly and insists Atsumu show him around the new apartment, more than makes up for Sakusa’s terrible manners. 

Food goes around, and then drinks. It’s nice, sitting in his cozy living room, surrounded by his friends and good food and laughter. Even Sakusa loosens up, taking the drink that Meian hands him (he’ll only take it from Meian, because he thinks Meian is the cleanest). Everything is perfect. At least, almost everything. But Atsumu does not indulge that lingering thought; he pushes it away and focuses harder on Hinata’s story. He’s happy here. He won’t let himself dwell on insecure thoughts. He wants to keep moving forward.

A few people have gotten up, bored with the chatter, to poke around his apartment. Meian tells them it’s rude, but Atsumu waves it off—he has nothing to hide from his teammates and nothing to be embarrassed about. He tunes out the few people opening doors and looking around and keeps talking.

“Atsumu, what is this?”

He cranes his neck looking for the source of the voice and finds it by the hallway closet. He can make out Barnes’s tall figure, but he can’t tell what he’s holding. “Bring it here,” Atsumu calls.

Barnes comes back holding a box in his hands; a box that Atsumu is all too familiar with. His heart drops to his stomach when he recognizes the box of photographs. When had he last indulged in the past and looked through this box? He can’t remember.

Barnes hands the box over and Atsumu takes it. He feels numb as he leans over and places it on the coffee table; the same coffee table it had sat on all that time ago when he’d first come to Tokyo. How ironic.

“What’s in the box?” Sakusa asks. His tone is more accusatory than inquisitory, but Atsumu pays it no mind. He’s dangerously close to getting lost in a tidal pool of the past. He needs to hold onto the now. But there’s no harm in showing his teammates.

Silently, he slides the lid off the box and pulls a few photos out. There’s one of Atsumu, posing like the volleyball mascot behind him. There’s one of Kita, looking obviously at the camera while pointing to something in the distance; Atsumu can’t remember what it had been. The last photo is one of both of them, curled up together on his grandma’s couch, Kita’s head buried in the crook of his neck. That had been one of Atsumu’s favorites. When he’d moved in with Kita, he’d gotten a frame for it and hung it on their wall.

He places the photos back in the box and pushes it forward. “Look and see.”

His teammates lean forward and begin plucking photos out of the box at random. Past Atsumu would have been worried about the photos being crumpled or tainted by messy fingers, but he doesn’t mind as much now. After all, he’s over it.

“Oh!” Tomas says, flicking through a few photos, “is this your boyfriend?”

Atsumu leans back in his chair and watches them for a few moments. Then he replies, “He was. Shinsuke Kita.”

Hinata and Sakusa look confused, but the rest of the team looks to him with interest. He hasn't mentioned his mysterious boyfriend since that night in the izakaya. How long ago was that? Atsumu can’t remember. 

“What happened to him?” someone asks. Atsumu stares at the box on the coffee table. He can tell them. He’s over it now. 

“We broke up,” he says. His voice sounds strangely distant. “He lives in Hyogo.”

Bokuto, oblivious to the tone in Atsumu’s voice, asks, “Do you miss him?”

No. Atsumu has moved on. He’s moved on, so why is he moping like this? He takes a deep breath and pushes his shoulders back, then shrugs in what he hopes in a nonchalant way. “Nah. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has too.” That statement sends an ache through his chest, but he ignores it. He’s moved on. He’s fine. “I don’t even know why I still have the pictures. Just never threw them out, I guess.”

The team continues looking through the pictures. They make fun of Atsumu for nearly every photo of him they find, and he can’t blame them. Atsumu seems like an entirely different person with Kita. He’s soft and sweet and he’s smiling wider than they’ve ever seen. When was the last time he smiled like that?

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. He’s feeling weirdly sentimental today. He can’t let himself dwell on those pictures. They’re the past. He doesn’t need them. He keeps them around because he can’t be bothered to toss them. That’s all it is.

Atsumu pushes himself out of his seat and goes to get another drink. Everyone is too absorbed with looking at the pictures to notice him trod away. In the kitchen, he lets himself slump against the counter and take a deep breath. Why is this so hard? He’s not lying—he’s over Kita. But looking at those pictures has made his heart ache all over again.

He’ll toss them first thing tomorrow morning. _I don’t need things like memories._ He’ll never see Kita again; he doesn’t need the pictures.

Especially not if they make him ache like this. 

He returns to the living room, a new drink in his hand. He should put the photos away for now; change the subject to something safer. Something that doesn’t make Atsumu feel like he’s about to combust.

“Atsumu, what’s this?”

Inunaki is holding a small plastic baggie that Atsumu has never seen before. It looks like it has old photos in it, and there’s something scribbled on the side that Atsumu can’t read.

“Where’d you get that?” Atsumu asks as he sits down.

Inunaki hands the bag over to Atsumu. He flips it over and reads the label: Atsumu. It’s Kita’s handwriting again, but a little messy, as if he was rushed when writing it. Just the sight of it makes Atsumu’s heart pound harder in his chest.

Forcing his voice to be even, Atsumu says, “Dunno. I’ve never seen this before.”

“Open it!” Hinata pushes his way into Atsumu’s personal space, but Atsumu is too focused on the bag to push him back. “I wanna see what’s inside!”

“Alright, give me a second.” Atsumu’s ears are ringing and his hands are shaking. For some reason, he doesn’t want to open the bag. He’s scared of what he might find. Still, he opens the bag and pulls the pictures out.

They’re polaroids, and ones that Atsumu has never seen. There are only a few in the stack, but he’s petrified just looking at the first one. Someone says something, but he can’t hear it. He can’t focus on anything except the photo.

Atsumu is eating onigiri—he remembers when this was, but he didn’t know Kita had taken a picture. They had been visiting Osamu in his new apartment and he made them onigiri. He’s making a face like the onigiri is terrible, but it had been the best onigiri he’d ever had. The caption reads, in Kita’s neat handwriting, _You always make me laugh._

“Is that you?”

Atsumu is staring blankly at the photo. Was that Hinata? Or someone else? He needs to shake this off. He has guests over.

Still, he sets that photo gingerly to the side and looks at the next one. This one is Atsumu standing at a counter with Kita’s grandma. She’s miniature next to him, but he remembers feeling like a child next to her. They were cooking together. When had this picture been taken? Was Kita’s grandma even still alive? The caption on this one is _I love you so much._ Atsumu knows Kita loves his grandma, but he has no doubt the caption was intended for him. His apartment is silent, but he flips to the next photo.

It’s in his old apartment—Kita’s apartment. He’s asleep in an armchair, his head tilted towards the sun. He’s wearing one of Kita’s sweaters, frayed and old and much too small for him. The sunlight bathes him and his surroundings in a warm golden glow. Underneath the photo, Kita has written, _My golden boy._

It rings in his ear. My golden boy. His golden boy. Kita’s.

Atsumu is his golden boy. 

“Atsumu?”

Atsumu tears his eyes away from the photos and pushes them away. “They’re just old photos. They don’t matter.”

Meian gives him a look and Atsumu shakes his head. He feels spacey and weird. It hurts to breathe. Is he going to cry? _Don’t cry,_ he chastises himself, _you’re over this. You’re over him._

“Let’s put the photos away,” Meian says. He reaches past the people looking at the polaroids and shoves them back in the box.

“Aw, but I’m still looking!” Inunaki whines. “I—ow!” Meian punches him in the arm and nods his head towards Atsumu, who is watching the whole interaction blankly. Inunaki’s mouth makes an ‘o’ shape and he slowly says, “Never mind. They’re just old pictures.”

They change the subject to volleyball rather quickly, but Atsumu doesn’t say anything. If anyone notices Atsumu’s strange behavior, they don’t say anything. Within an hour, everyone is slowly streaming out of the door. Atsumu is being a good host; walking them to the door, thanking them for coming, but everyone notices he’s not all there. His ears are ringing. The only thought running through his head is _my golden boy._ That’s him. He’s Kita’s golden boy.

What is he doing so far away from him?

Meian is the last to leave. He claps Atsumu on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine.” Atsumu is lying through his teeth, and he can’t even make it believable. He’s so incredibly drained. “They’re just some old pictures.”

Meian squeezes his shoulder. It pulls Atsumu back to reality, even for just the briefest of moments. “Get some rest,” he says. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Atsumu nods and Meian gives him one last smile before leaving. When the door swings shut, Atsumu locks it. He stands there for a moment, staring at the door. His apartment is spacious and nice. He decorated it himself. It smells like his peach candle. It’s home, but it’s not _home._

When did it stop feeling like home again? When did home go back to being armchairs and the Hyogo sunset and Kita’s sweaters?

He marches back to the box and rips the lid off to stare at the photos inside. He’s getting rid of them. He’s shredding them or throwing them out the window or even burning them. He wants Kita out of his life. Out of his head. In his arms.

“Leave me alone!” he yells at them. The photos sit in the box, unmoving. Inanimate. Like always. They’re not even real. What is yelling at them going to do? But the words won’t leave his mind, worming their way through the walls he’s built up over all this time. 

_My golden boy._ He can practically hear Kita saying it, his sweet voice like music to Atsumu's ears.

Why did he leave?

He collapses onto the couch and tucks his knees up to his chest and whimpers, “I don’t need you. Go away.” The photos don’t move. They’re not real. They never were.

_My golden boy._

He tucks his head into his knees and sobs. _My golden boy._ Why did he ever leave?

He doesn’t regret coming to Tokyo. He regrets going to Inarizaki, he regrets meeting Kita, he regrets kissing him and telling him he loves him and moving in with him. He regrets meeting Kita.

“I hate you,” he whispers to the pictures. “I hate you so much.”

He could never hate them. He could never regret loving Kita.

The box sits on the coffee table as Atsumu remembers what it was like to love Kita. He remembers the pictures they would take together and the gentle touches and the way Kita would bury his head in Atsumu’s back when they slept together. He remembers Kita lives seven hours away and they haven’t spoken in years. He remembers he’s Kita’s golden boy. He remembers he loves Kita.

He remembers he always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huhuhuhuhu okay more angst it's pretty fun right? aha i promise there's a happy ending! one chapter left :P  
> thank you all for the support on this it means a lot to me  
> mwah mwah kisses for you all love you guys sm ur all sweethearts <3

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha oops my fingers slipped
> 
> i hope you all enjoy this!! idk when i'll update it again but i will finish this i swear
> 
> anyways comfort ship amiright


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